Divided Heaven
by clockwork starlight
Summary: birthday fic to me. Itachi x Hinata x Sasuke threesome fic. tiny spoilers for manga, naughty like whoa, attempted canon. second half archived off-site


In which I switch points of view like mad, take several liberties with manga events, and have like no characters in the periphery. Twosome and threesome sex, of the shameless and no-holds-barred variety.

Yes, you could say it's OOC, because how the hell else was Hinata going to take it up the ass? Because I suck (no pun intended) at porn-ish free-for-all lovin', I kind of had to dehumanize them ALL to get them in the position they needed to be in for this to even work.

Uchihas have no shame. Uchihas need no shame. They have nothing to be ashamed _of_. Uchiha prodigies just make me hot.

Eh. It's my birthday present, I can do whatever I want to it. Teensy manga spoilers, and awkward sex.

* * *

Sasuke has a secret. He has several really, but this one is important. His brother lives in his mind. Not just figuratively either. More than transferring salvation, Itachi also gave Sasuke himself before he died. Sasuke has become well versed in poetic irony and how much Fate really was a bitch.  
Sasuke didn't know it until he finally decided to return to Konoha, and Itachi appeared in his dreams, in the mirror, in the dark behind his eyelids. Five years he'd been lurking, carefully poking through his mind and memories; Sasuke wonders if Itachi is worried madness is inherent in the name Uchiha.  
But now Sasuke has to listen to his older brother criticizing his every move, mocking every weakness he displays, knowing his eyes are the harshest judges, because they both want this body to get stronger.

…

He makes it a point not to associate with the Hyuuga whenever one of them shows up at his door. Sure, even the prodigy can't differentiate between the Uchiha chakras, and none of them had seen him in years, so what the fuck did they think they would know anyway?  
But they both know it is better to be safe than separate. The former heiress is alright though; she's weak enough not to be a threat, and strong enough not to be annoying. She's also unavoidable since she's been pushed on to them—him.  
Them. Sasuke lets his brother take control sometimes, because Itachi has done many things for 'freedom' and 'protection', so he supposes it's the least he can do. Sasuke discovers that whatever Itachi does, his body remembers. Itachi mutters something about finally helping his foolish little brother with his marksmanship, but retreats into darkness when Sasuke questions him.

…

Sasuke is different from what she remembers. It only stands to reason, she knows, as she only noted him because of Naruto's determination, and to remark quietly to herself that all the other girls were strange. But sometimes, now, there's a different air about him, colder and warmer somehow, that demands distance out of an almost affectionately cool superiority.  
Hinata believes in forgiving people. So she forgives Sasuke for everything he has done and is doing. She hasn't found it in her yet to absolve Orochimaru of his many sins, she doesn't really want to. This is what it is to hate. It burns, but it consumes and it's tiring, she finds. She wonders if Sasuke felt the same flame within him during his desperate search for his brother.  
Still, she hates Orochimaru, because he is dead and she will never have to face that hate. She hates him for her friends' sakes, you see, for her family and her village and her happiness. He drove such a large part of the events in history that she can safely say if he had never existed, her life would be better than it is now.  
She hates him because her love is running dry. She can't love Naruto and she can't hate Sakura; she's not allowed to love her family, and she can't find it in herself to hate them; she doesn't love this job, but she doesn't hate it either. She might be grateful to Orochimaru for providing this safe outlet for the all emotions she's not supposed to have, but she hates him with everything in her heart that hasn't already died, so she can't.

…

She brushes her hair carefully, flinching automatically when the pull of teeth bares the mark of suppression on her forehead, but she exposes as much of it as she can. They are both chained by something stronger than their own will. They need to remember that. She tucks her forelocks away and rises to make breakfast for her charge. She is glad to be of _some _use, even if it is just cannon fodder should the last Uchiha go berserk. They know she has enough skill to slow him down a little, and he wouldn't be able to cloak a spike in _her_ chakra.  
She doesn't think he will though. He's as sane as she is; broken unsightly pieces of ancient clans that fit well enough to get along and not much else. She is his tether; they go on missions together, mostly elimination assignments. She to scout, he to kill, and she to patch him up on the off chance he needs it. It works, considering they have no camaraderie, no history, no shared interests. All they have is not disappointing Naruto. You'd think, by now, they'd have moved passed living for someone else.

………..

He can't ask her to train with him, she sitting on the grass plucking the strings of a _koto_. She'd hold back even though he could kill her before she blinked.  
But Itachi wants to test his strength. Even splitting chakra, Sasuke is probably no match for his brother. But he forms the seals for the _kage bunshin_ anyway.

…

The chakra in the clone looks a very little bit different. Hinata speculates in black, black ink, on the report she must write every day (presumably so the analysts will be able to detect hypnotism or something), that Sasuke learned ways to manipulate and mould chakra under Orochimaru's tutelage. Certainly whatever it is seems more efficient. Both Sasukes have their _sharingan_ activated; she ignores them and puts down the brush and scroll and returns to tuning the instrument before her.

…

They read the words she chooses from the brush strokes she makes, see exactly how little she believes them. The original Sasuke takes advantage of the other's preoccupation to attack.

…

Hinata concentrates on the notes of her mother's favorite song, stares at her fingers without the use of her bloodline. If she can't see how the false Sasuke is completely overwhelming the real one, she can't report it.

……

Sasuke didn't realize how much it actually meant to him when Hinata said, simply and tinged with relief, that she would trust him and believe that no part of Orochimaru lived in him, other than the memories. She never asked him again, never posed questions he would have to lie to. Itachi calls her naïve, but Sasuke can tell he appreciates this freedom, despite the Hyuuga's foolish trust and confidence. It's almost refreshing to find someone who just doesn't care.

………..

She washes their clothes in their lake, the one where rain and time have long since erased the char marks. The cotton of her clothes clings to her torso, but the Uchiha stare not at the curves of her body, but the curves of scars of wounds that have only been healed enough to maintain function. Neither of them care to ask how anyone got close enough to mark a Hyuuga; because for all that she bears their seal, their _byakugan_, that proud name is no longer hers.

Hinata doesn't need her bloodline to say sometimes it feels like there are two people regarding her, when she knows it's just Sasuke. Not that it would make a difference on paper. Her instincts can't be trusted, so she must always stick to what is tangible.  
She has long since mastered selective awareness.

…………………………..

She wakes slowly after collapsing into bed four hours ago, because the sun is almost up and she needs to make breakfast. She goes to the kitchen, and Uchiha Mikoto is putting away the last of the clean dishes. Uchiha Fugaku glares up at his wife but says nothing. Hinata wonders how desperate a man must be to hypnotize his own clones into being his family. None of them have moved to prepare the food, since clones can't eat and Sasuke doesn't cook when he has her to do it.  
It's a stinging reminder that Uchiha Sasuke is broken in too many places to count.

She looks up from chopping up tomatoes when Itachi descends from the stairwell. Unlike his parents, he looks his true age. She returns to her task easily, despite how different this clone feels.  
"Sasuke's probably not coming down for a while," he tells this pathetic caricature of a family. His hand rests curled against Hinata's neck before the knife finishes making its next cut.  
"You're not really here, as you can see. No one will acknowledge your existence, but still, your life is your reward for being… discreet so long," he whispers silkily into her hair. Ice slithers up her spine, but she can't feel how that is any different any more. Itachi, and it _is_ Itachi, eyes her with something that could be amusement. "Actually…"  
The cotton belt flutters to the floor. She keeps her hand on the knife and reaches for the spring onion. She has no interest in his rewards.  
"You're not real," she murmurs softly, as convincing as the lies she spins for bureaucracy every day.  
"And you're not alive." The words drip into her ear like poison, and finally she drops the knife to remove his hand from the inside of her thigh.  
"I'm more alive than you are." The cold claim is more like a plea.  
"Then scream, or beg, or weep. If you are alive, be afraid of death. If you are truly alive, _fear me_."  
"I-I can't." She has never thought this would be an admission of defeat.  
He makes a small 'hn' in the back of his throat, and it's like he has reached into her head and pulled out all the disgust and horrible disillusionment she has endured all her life and shoved it all into that one noise. Maybe he has.  
She breaks.  
Her fingers fill with chakra and she whirls to dispel the Sasuke-clone with Itachi's face and mind. He smirks down at her, catching her wrists with listless ease. The porcelain of her flesh warms at his touch as it had not done before, and Hinata realizes that he brought her back from her ghosts so he could kill her spirit all over again. She fights his grip on her hands, fights his body crushing her legs into the cabinet, fights the growing dread and fear in her heart.

…

Fugaku and Mikoto remain static in their content complacence.

…

Uchiha Itachi is kneeling before her, his breath on her skin a threatening promise. His eyes are spinning red and she struggles harder to get her hands free.  
The kitchen knife slams into the counter, pinning both her palms. It hurts so much she can't even cry out. Cold metal between her bones, interrupting the smooth lines of her white hands and once-beautiful movements.  
There is no blood, only pain, and the knife is innocently laid among the massacred vegetables; the only red to be found is the tomatoes and Itachi's eyes.  
The message is clear as day. _Next time, it won't be an illusion. Don't fight. Just submit._  
The touch of his tongue is almost worse than the knife. It slips into her so effortlessly she can barely feel it, only the tremors it causes. She wonders if this might be _genjutsu_ too. It feels real and she's crying like it's her first time, and maybe it is, because all the other first times were work-related. She didn't shed any tears then. Maybe it's because the other first times didn't hurt so good.  
She's choking back screams and sobs and wanton moaning. The edge of her incisor slits her tongue and blood mingles with saltwater at the corner of her mouth.  
"_Kai_!'  
The puff of air and released chakra flutters against her skin and she _feels_ it, like she hasn't felt anything for years. She sags slightly against the counter and straightens herself out again. This is not the time or the place and she is not the person to display weakness any more.

…

Uchiha Mikoto raises her head from reading over her husband's shoulder. "Good morning, Sasuke. Did you sleep well?"  
They disappear in smoke as well, and echoing in the recesses of his mind, Itachi may be stifling his laughter. A cruel, cruel mercy, to fill this empty house with its rightful inhabitants. Sasuke's defenses must have been weaker than he had thought last night, to have given in to childish dependence and utter stupidity.

…

Hinata gathers her clothes shut slowly, her face a blank mask, even with the blood and tears. But Sasuke knows how tightly coiled she is; it was a shadow of his mouth tormenting her, even if it wore another's face and intention. He can almost smell her, almost taste her, almost feel her, and he's glad he dispelled the clones of his parents; because there are some things that just should not be done in front of your mother, because he might need this more than she does. His brother is a reminder of how alone he is, and the girl is safe and silent and convenient. And maybe he can admit she looked incredibly alluring, her body ripe, her face twisted in so many conflicting emotions.

…

Hinata picks up the knife again. She _should_ be ashamed, angry, afraid; but aside from the aching emptiness, all she is is apathetic. Shame has no meaning any more. She does not bear the Hyuuga crest, so she can not mar its pride. If she didn't have to sign the daily reports, she would probably forget 'Hinata' as well. It's not like any one addresses her by name anyway.  
Maybe Itachi is right.

…

"I'm sorry," he rasps in her ear, ripping away the cover she spent two minutes fumbling for. "I'm sorry."

* * *

for the second half, wherein lies all the sexing:

community (dot) livejournal (dot) com (foreslash) inked (underscore) in (underscore) purple (foreslash) 22079 (dot) html


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